How can something almost invisible be so indelible?
I borrowed a book from the public library. I’m trying to revive my long lost love for reading. But as I flip through the pages, the words lose my attention to the crease on the top left corner of the page. I wasn’t the first person to borrow this copy, I won’t be the last. “What made the leaver of this wrinkle in time hit pause?” I thought to myself, when I should really have been focusing on the words on the page. Sometimes the unsaid leaves a more lasting imprint. Sometimes it’s not just the words on the page that tell stories. What will the next reader think of the marks I leave behind?